Silver Blood
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Voldemort falls, yet the dark is victorious. When Harry rescues Hermione from the twisted creature who kidnapped her from the battle, he finds a terrible reality forced upon her. Having no one else to turn for help with her cursed condition, he tracks down a believed-dead Draco. Hermione will come to see them both in a new light as they help her adjust to a troubling new existence.
1. The Failing of the Light

**CONTENT WARNINGS: THIS FIC IS DARK. May contain disturbing themes or imagery. Will contain coarse language & sexual situations. ****_Please_**** read the extended summary before proceeding any further.**

**CHARACTERS ARE KILLED & MORE MAY DIE IN THIS FIC. IF YOU DO ****_NOT_**** ENJOY FICS CONTAINING CHARACTER DEATHS, THEN DO NOT READ THIS.**

**UPDATES WILL BE SPORADIC.**

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**Extended Summary: **Voldemort fell, yet the light suffered too many losses to claim victory. Believing their son dead, the Malfoys cling to the only other thing to give their life meaning: power, and take advantage of their Lord's defeat, claiming leadership over the dark.

The loss of Ron and Ginny makes Harry desperate to rescue Hermione, kidnapped by one deranged, obsessed werewolf, before she's torn from his life, as well. After finding her, and learning what Fenrir has forced upon her, he seeks out the only Death Eater who might help him find a cure.

That is, as long as his instincts are right, and the fact that Draco's body was never found means he's still alive.

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**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no money from the creation or publication of this story.**

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**Chapter One**

The Failing of the Light

Hermione screamed, thrashing her legs, but Fenrir held her easily, one hand pinning her wrists above her head. Clamping her lips together, she angled her gaze to the unicorn, fallen beside her.

His terrifying words from only a few minutes earlier—had this really all happened so quickly—echoed through her skull. Not spoken to her, _about_ her, as though she was not even present.

Like she was an object.

* * *

_"Bellatrix said I could have her. Well, now I'm making good on that."_

_He held her by a hand gripped into her hair, so tight she thought he might tear her scalp from her head. Each time she attempted to move, he gave her a quick, yet violent, shake. If only he hadn't gotten close enough to snap her wand in two, but he'd sneaked up behind her during the last moments of battle. She never had a chance to react._

_The wizard, whose name she did not know, only smirked, his gaze flicking over Fenrir's _prize. _"Whatever _are_ you going to do with her?"_

_Hermione tried to turn her head, to look around. The werewolf responded instantly, shaking her again and she screamed behind clenched teeth._

_"I'm going to turn her into my pet."_

_If she hadn't already been trembling from pain and exhaustion, she was certain his tone, a stomach-turning mix of joy and savagery, would have sent a new jolt of shivers through her._

_"Going to bite her, are you?"_

_Fenrir chuckled. "Eventually." He leaned close pressing his face against the side of her throat and inhaling deeply. That this made her scream again only drew another laugh from him. "I'm going to make sure she's good and broken, first. I'm going to make her—" he shook her once more, enjoying the sound of her cries—"dependent on me. She's going to think I'm her whole world when I'm done with her."_

_The wizard stepped closer, trailing the tip of a finger down her cheek. "Well," he said, amusement lacing his words as she cringed at his touch, "this is one _is_ feisty. How you gonna break her without killing her or driving her _too_ mad?"_

_Fenrir glanced over his shoulder, into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. "I got an idea, don't you worry 'bout that."_

* * *

A tear escaped, running cold along her temple as he reached over to cup his free hand beneath the dripping gash in the poor creature's throat.

"I don't know why you think this is going to do anything," she whispered, her words hurried and trembling as she tried to reason her way out of this. "Drinking unicorn blood only-only curses you if _you_ killed the unicorn. You killed it, not me!"

He uttered another of his unsettling, bestial chuckles. "Natural magic's not that particular. If the unicorn has been slain for its blood, then the blood carries the curse. _I_ am going to keep you alive until I chose to bite you, or kill you."

Hermione fought back a whimper as she let those words play through her head once, twice, looking for _something_, but her mind was too tired; she could barely think straight. She watched him pull his arm back, watched the glint of thick silver liquid draw nearer.

"And you _will_ be grateful."

Folding her lips inward, she turned her head, eyes squeezing shut.

"C'mon pretty," Fenrir cooed mockingly, "open your mouth, or I'll _make_ you open it."

Inhaling, deep and shuddering through her nostrils, she shook her head.

"Have it your way," he whispered.

The elation in his guttural voice horrified Hermione. He _enjoyed _the idea of having to force this upon her.

With a deep, growling chuckle, he lowered his head as he brought his cupped hand close to her mouth. "Oh, I'm going to have fun with you."

The feeling of Fenrir nuzzling his face against her breast made her skin crawl and she shivered in revulsion. He pressed so close that she could feel through the fabric of her shirt and bra as he opened his mouth against her.

He closed his jaw slowly, biting down on her. Her clothes would keep him from breaking her skin too soon, and he pressed his teeth down harder, and harder still.

Again she thrashed beneath him, muted whimpers working out of her throat. His teeth clenched around her, sending shocks of pain through her and she could no longer hold back a scream.

* * *

"No, no, _Ron_!" Harry pleaded in a whisper, shaking his best friend by the shirt. He'd dragged Ron away from the heart of the battle, out of harm's way, but now he worried that the very act of moving Ron had only hurried him toward death's door.

Ron opened his eyes slowly, the effort exhausting. "It's okay, Harry." His voice was low, but gentle. He sounded like an old man ready to impart wisdom, Harry thought. "We lost, that's all. We always . . ." He drew a ragged breath. "We always knew we might."

"It wasn't supposed to turn out like this," tears clogged Harry's throat, he was still reeling from watching Ginny's body hit the ground. "Voldemort's gone, we were supposed to . . . ." He didn't even know what to say; didn't know what was supposed to have happened instead, only that it shouldn't have been _this_.

His face pulling tight with pain, Ron slid something into Harry's fingers and then closed his hand around his friend's. "But it did turn out like this," he said softly, his eye drifting closed. "Hermione's still out there, somewhere. You have to find her."

Ron's fingers slipped away and Harry found himself holding the deluminator. "Ron, no," he said, shaking his head, unwilling to believe what was happening. "Please, you can't—"

"Promise me you'll find her."

Of course he'd find Hermione. He'd find her even if Ron wasn't asking . . . even if she wasn't the only one he had left, now.

Harry sniffled, lifting his gaze from the object in his hand to his friend's face. His friend's still, _so_ suddenly lifeless face. Sinking his teeth deep into his bottom lip, his eyelids drifted down, forcing tears free to roll down his cheeks.

"I promise," he whispered, his throat constricting.

"I can't find his body."

Narcissa Malfoy's tear-thickened voice met Harry's ears and he immediately shrank back against the wall. Harry gave himself a quick shake, regaining his bearings. He risked rising up on his knees to peer around the crumbling stone.

"But you're certain you saw what happened?" Lucius asked, frantic, yet sounding oddly stronger than he'd seemed when he'd been running through the battle earlier, screaming for his son.

"Yes! Yes," her words rushed together. "I _saw _the killing curse strike him_, _Lucius."

Lucius' eyes closed for a moment and he inhaled deeply. When he opened them again, he squared his shoulders and stood straighter, holding his head high.

He looked like a man with renewed purposed, Harry thought as he watched the impossibly quick transformation. Suddenly, Lucius Malfoy was again the proud, arrogant creature he'd been before Voldemort had broken him.

"We _will_ find his bo— we will find _Draco_, Narcissa, but first," he smoothed his hair back and stepped over to a fallen wizard, extracting the wand from the corpse's hand. "_First,_ we will make the name Malfoy mean something, again."

He turned to those of Voldemort's ranks still standing, scattered as they were around bodies and debris. "Death Eaters!"

Harry realized with a start what was happening. Lucius had calculated the options left to him now that his son was dead, and his Dark Lord was no more, and chosen his next move carefully.

The dark wizards and witches glanced around at one another before gathering close.

"Comb the castle. Any survivors hiding shall surrender or die!"

Harry sank back down as triumphant cries rang out, safe in the knowledge that there were no survivors in the castle to kill—everyone had fled or capitulated, already, and joined the dark. He couldn't linger any longer.

Shaking his head as he blinked a fresh wash of tears from his eyes, he grabbed his fallen friend's shoulder one last time, gave it one final squeeze, and took his chance, bolting off into the shelter of the Forbidden Forest.

He made it as far as he dared and ducked behind a tree, catching his breath. He wanted to break down, wanted to drop to his knees and beat his fists against the ground until they were bloody, wanted to cry until his body dried up and blew away like dead leaves.

But he didn't have the luxury, not now. Hermione was out here, somewhere. And if anyone would think of a way to survive, it was her. Harry looked at the deluminator.

He knew Ron probably hoped it might lead him to Hermione, but Harry's wasn't so—

A scream tore the air, one he recognized all too well. He'd never forget the sound of it echoing to him through the floor of Malfoy Manor.

"Hermione!" Drawing his wand, he was off and running again.

* * *

Fenrir's hand covered her mouth and Hermione gagged as the thick, metallic fluid spilled down her throat. His fingers slid away from her lips as he loosened his jaw and raised his head.

The blood seared and chilled, all at once; her stomach icing and roiling, instantly. She struggled in his grip, but her strength had drained out of her by now. She thought distantly the blood had something to do with it—that ingesting the precious, but desecrated liquid was doing something to her body, already. But she tried to fight him, kicking and shifting beneath him.

Another scream tore from her as he shook her again. The moment her voice died away, she heard the crackling zap of a wand strike.

His body jerked and he let out a growl. He raised up a little, looking over his shoulder, his grip on her wrists slacking.

Hermione took advantage of Fenrir's distraction and rolled out from under him, immediately disoriented from the action.

The werewolf returned his attention to Hermione, expression livid as he made a grab for her.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

Fenrir's body locked and he fell onto his side. She managed to scramble away just in time to miss his impact.

The voice that had shouted the spell seemed, in that moment, like the most amazing sound she'd ever heard in her life. "Harry?"

She sounded so weak, he thought, terrified he was too late as he darted toward her. Harry watched as she slowly, clumsily climbed to her feet. As she lifted her head to look at him, he saw the smear of silver across her lips. His gaze shot from her face, to the slain unicorn and back.

Tears streaked her dirt-smudged cheeks as she murmured, "It wa— it wasn't my fault. He forced me. He . . . ." Hermione blinked sleepily and shook her head before falling to the ground.

"Hermione!" He was beside her in an instant, gathering her into his arms.

Her eyes closed, she mumbled, her words barely intelligible, "It wasn't my fault, I tried not to . . . I tried . . . ."

He hugged her close, rocking lightly. "Shh, it's going to be okay, Hermione." He didn't believe his own words, everything was _wrong_—and she didn't even know about the deaths of Ron and Ginny, yet. She was not in any condition to hear such terrible news.

Harry leaned back a little, looking into her face. He'd never seen Hermione Granger appear more fragile than she did right then. "I'll find a way to help you," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers."I promise you, I _promise_ you, I won't let you die on me." He knew she didn't hear him, she'd fallen unconscious, her breathes soft and shallow, but he needed to say it, all the same.

Shifting her gently, he raised his wand, pointing at Fenrir. "_Obliviate," _he said, his voice quiet, but strong as he stole away all traces of Hermione from the beast-man's memory.

As the paralyzed Fenrir stared blankly past them into the forest, Harry realized that he wanted this creature to suffer. Setting aside his wand, he cupped a hand into the blood pooled beneath the unicorn's wound and reached out, pouring it over Fenrir's lips.

"Hope you enjoy your half-life," he whispered in an angry hiss as he took back his wand, pulled Hermione against him and stood.

As he began to walk, deeper into the heart of the forest—perhaps any surviving centaurs might offer them shelter—he felt shaken by how silent the place was. Everything that roamed here was either dead, helping scour what was left of Hogwarts, or hiding. He halted as a numb realization struck him. He could not seek the centaurs. They would not understand, they would see the silver blood on Hermione's lips and believe she'd turned dark; that perhaps she'd been dying and drank of the unicorn's wound willingly.

He rested his back against a tree and looked up into the darkened network of leaves and branches over their heads. He couldn't do this alone, but he feared bringing more danger to any surviving friends who might be hiding.

Did they truly have no one?

The conversation between Narcissa and Lucius came back to him. Draco's body hadn't been recovered. Harry thought for certain he knew the moment Narcissa had mentioned, only Draco hadn't been the one struck by the killing curse. The spell had missed him by barely a few centimeters, though, striking a Death Eater who'd run up on him.

Draco was from an old, pure-blood family, raised by dark wizards. He'd been part of Voldemort's inner circle, whether he'd liked it or not. He probably knew things, useful things, that he wasn't even aware he knew, or at least might have access to information that could help him cure Hermione.

And Draco did still owe them for saving his life.

Harry swallowed hard, green eyes drifting closed. _If_ he was correct and Draco Malfoy's body wasn't in the castle, somewhere.

Hermione stirred in his arms, giving a pained whimper before she settled down again.

He curled his arms, holding her to him, but freeing his hands. With very little idea if it would work, and feeling ridiculous despite both their dire circumstance _and_ all they'd been through, he held up the deluminator in one hand, and his wand in the other. "_Lumos_."

Clicking the deluminator, He allowed it to steal the spot of light. "Please, please. We need to find Draco Malfoy. Show us the way." Certainly he was improvising on how the device had led Ron to Hermione, but neither of them had such a connection to Draco—thought, admittedly, Harry did once have suspicions about the way Draco looked at Hermione—so he was supplementing the light, giving the strange little thing as much aid as he could think to provide.

He clicked it open and the ball of light shot out, bobbing a few meters ahead of them.

Harry nodded, once again shifting Hermione in his arms so he could maintain his grip on her, while holding his wand at the ready. He pushed off from the tree and trailed after the orb.

He couldn't let it worry him that rather than guiding them out of the Forbidden Forest, the light was leading them further _in_.


	2. Hidden Hearts

**I want to apologize to readers of my recent HP fics who've come to expect quick, consistent updates. Nothing's happened, I haven't gone anywhere, I just haven't been feeling well as of late, so I've been spending the time I would normally write resting.**

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**This chapter is not strictly based on the book canon, but also infers things from the actors' portrayals & dialogue from the HP movies.**

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**Chapter Two**

Hidden Hearts

Stone walls and steepled towers rose, so dark he could barely see more than the building's outline as first, against the backdrop of tall, gnarled trees with twisted branches. Harry approached the structure cautiously, swallowing hard as he once more shifted Hermione's unconscious form in his arms. The black, crumbling manor stood in—by Harry's estimation, given how very long he'd walked—what was likely the very heart of the Forbidden Forest.

In fact, the vines and roots erupting from the base of the manor gave him the unsettling impression that the building _was_ the heart of the Forest. He had the feeling that no one knew this was here; not even Dumbledore, who possessed seemingly infinite knowledge of Hogwart's secrets.

As he watched the ball of light bob ahead of them, so close to the wall that its illumination reflected dully off the pocked stone, he couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that someone had stumbled upon this place. If not for the death or departure of so many of the Forest's denizens, he doubted he—or Draco, assuming he really was here—would have made it far enough in to discover the large, if decrepit, dwelling.

Now that he had a moment to reflect, he considered it a wonder Fenrir managed to find a unicorn to slaughter. Poor creature might've been the last one in the Forbidden Forest, for all anyone knew, though Harry highly doubted that such a thought would've stayed the werewolf's hand.

"I suppose things could always be worse," he muttered to Hermione, comforted by the fact that he could still feel her breathing against him, as he shook his head. "He could've been hiding out in a cave, or something."

The orb appeared to be waiting for him and he forced himself to walk toward it. As he moved, the ball of light drifted around a corner of the structure. He paused, listening for anything which might be lurking, only to once more be unnerved by the endless silence of the dark woods surrounding them.

He kept his wand at the ready, still. His entire arm ached and trembled with the tension, but he held tight; he couldn't drop his guard and couldn't slacken his hold on Hermione.

Grand, cracked stonework steps came into view as he rounded another corner. The orb hovered, again seeming to await him patiently, before it zipped upward. His gaze trailed it to a second story window from which he thought he spied a flickering light . . . probably candles?

But then the orb jetted inside and Harry held his breath, stifling a pained groan as he shifted Hermione's body to point his wand at the window.

There was a quick popping sound—like the filament of a bulb bursting—followed by the candlelight going out. In the sudden darkness, Harry could just make out the point of a wand emerging from the window.

He thought, or perhaps hoped, that he saw a glint of silvery-blonde hair amongst the shadows. Harry decided to take the risk; if he waited any longer his arms would give out and he'd drop Hermione.

"_Lumos_." As he said the word, he kept his gaze trained on the window.

". . . Potter?"

Harry heard his name a moment before Draco Malfoy poked his head out.

Grey eyes darted over them, but Harry couldn't help observing that Draco seemed to give a start when he realized who Harry was carrying. Harry had intentionally covered her face with her hair, hiding the stain of silver on her mouth, but he knew the long, bushy brown locks would be recognizable to anyone who'd ever met the girl.

"Merlin's beard, what happened?"

"Can we discuss that when we're inside? Get down here and help me before my arms give out!"

Though he thought he saw Draco roll his eyes, the other young man disappeared from the window. A moment later, he appeared at the yawning double-doors atop the steps.

He descended slowly, holding his arms out, his expression wary as though he expected she'd awaken any moment and hit him with a curse.

As Draco drew closer, Harry noticed he looked as terrible as they probably did—skin ashen, eyes sunken. He gingerly handed her over, watchfully eyeing Malfoy as he did so.

Harry's arms dropped to his sides and he let out a grunt at the responding pain that shot through his limbs.

"What was that?" Draco asked as he turned and led Harry back up the steps. "How did you find me?"

After a moment of silently trailing through the depressingly broken building, Harry finally muttered, "A trick Dumbledore left us. How'd you find this place? Did you know this was here?"

As he preceded Harry up twisting staircase, Draco shook his head. "No, I . . . I just ran."

"You ran," Harry echoed bitterly. "Of course you did, this is _you._"

"No, I mean yes, just . . . not like that. I was _fighting_, right beside Longbottom, if you can believe that. But then . . ." he halted at the landing, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. "But then you killed Voldemort and nothing changed. The fighting kept on, and we were losing."

He faced forward, again, the sound of him forcing a gulp down his throat practically bouncing off the walls. "We were losing—everyone was _dying_—so I ran. And I didn't stop, not until I found myself here."

The room he led Harry into wasn't anything like what Harry'd been imaging. Everything was clean, shiny and brand-new looking, probably medieval in décor, but shiny and new in appearance nonetheless.

Draco delicately set Hermione on the bed, all but jumping back from her.

"_Nox_," Harry whispered, the illumination from his wand no longer necessary as Draco lit candles set into a holder upon a nearby dressing table. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. Had time for spring cleaning, did you?"

Draco furrowed his brow as he glanced around. "Of course not, I used magic. Didn't expect me to stay in such unlivable conditions, did you?"

Now Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he repeated.

"Everyone else_ is_ dead, aren't they?"

Harry gave a mirthless laugh as he lowered himself to sit beside Hermione. "Dead, hiding, or following your father."

"My father?"

"Oh, were you not aware that he'd jump at the chance to seize control?"

Draco held up a hand, shaking his head as though he didn't understand. "My father took over?"

"After the dust settled, yes. It was the first thing he did. And after your mother . . . ." Harry paused. He knew that telling Draco what had really happened might, instead, send him running back to his parents, looking to reclaim his position as the revered Malfoy heir, but Harry needed to know, sooner rather than later, if he was going to have to seek aid for Hermione on his own.

"After your mother told him you were dead."

"She said—"

"Yes."

What little color was left in Draco's face drained, but he only nodded. "Why did you come looking for me, then?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he met Malfoy's gaze. "You're not going back to them?"

"I've learned a few things about myself during all this, Potter. First and foremost," he scowled, looking away, "I'm no killer. I'm hardly a good person, but I don't have it in me to _kill _someone. If I go back, that's exactly what they'll make me become."

"That's why I came to find you," Harry mumbled, thoughtfully. "We need your help."

"For what? We've lost already, haven't we?"

Sighing heavily, Harry closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them again and leaning over Hermione to sweep her away from her face. "For this."

Draco cautiously leaned over, his jaw dropping at the sight of silver on her lips. "Is that . . . ?"

"Unicorn blood, yes."

As Harry watched Draco's face, he realized he'd taken exactly the right approach. His observations about the other boy had not been mistaken.

"How did this happen? Granger would _never_ have—"

"Of course she didn't do this to herself! It was your buddy Greyback; I think he was trying to torture her, or something." Harry frowned darkly, shifting his gaze to look out the window. "Ron and Ginny are gone, and Hermione is cursed to a half-life."

"I'm sorry, you're expecting me to help you do what, exactly?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, Harry clasped his hands in front of him. "We're going to figure out how to break her curse."

"We're . . . oh, you have lost it, haven't you?" Draco paced anxiously as he spoke, "In case you've forgotten, the only cure for her condition is an elixir created by use of the Sorcerer's Stone. A stone which, by the way,_ your_ buddy Dumbledore saw destroyed six years ago."

"There's got to be a way, and between you and me, we're going to be able to figure something out, I know we are."

"You realize what you're asking?" Draco sat down heavily on the other side of Hermione, pressing a fist to his mouth for a long moment before saying anything more. "_If_ there is a way, how are we going to find it, hmm? You said it yourself, anyone else you could've turned to is dead or hiding or . . ._ lost_. We'd be risking our lives just trying to 'figure something out'. After everything I've done to survive, what makes you think I'm willing to do that?"

Harry glanced pointedly at Hermione's face before returning his attention to Malfoy. "Because you owe us that much. And because you're not as subtle as you think."

Draco's posture stiffened, making the lanky young man appear taller as he stared back at Harry. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Potter."

Even with all that had happened, with all they'd lost, and all they'd lived through, Harry couldn't help but simply laugh. "She's my best friend, you're one of my worst enemies. You really think _I_ wouldn't notice how your face changed whenever you looked at her? You act like you hate her, but you couldn't watch Bellatrix torture her. I saw where you were when Ron and I came in to save her. You were in a corner, with your head down. Your mother was comforting you!" Leaning back, Harry covered his mouth with his hand as he rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling—how had he not realized this sooner? The signs were there, but he'd been so distracted troubling himself over the bigger picture that he'd just not noticed. "It shouldn't have bothered you if you loathed her as much as you had everyone believe, or, at least shouldn't have bothered you so much that you _needed_ comfort."

His gaze darting about, looking everywhere but at Hermione, Harry observed, Draco shrugged. "Maybe I'm just not the sort that can watch something like that."

"Maybe you're right. So I suppose it wouldn't matter to you that as much as she seemed to hate you, she was the one who noticed stress taking a toll on you when you were restoring the vanishing cabinet last year." Harry paused, his expression clouding over as he considered what he was saying, as he considered something he'd never have paid mind to, if not for circumstance forcing him to think on it. "She said you'd looked pale and like you were sick, and I didn't listen. Did you know I was down below when Snape killed Dumbledore? I heard _everything_."

Draco met Harry's gaze, but remained silent.

"And I told her. Do you know what she asked me? She asked me if I thought you could've done it. If you would have been able to kill Dumbledore if Snape hadn't stepped in." Harry's eyes drifted closed for a brief moment. "Never occurred to me to wonder why she'd even ask that."

"Why are you telling me this, Potter?"

Harry reached over, gently lacing his fingers through Hermione's. "Look, if you won't do it to repay us for saving your life, then maybe, just maybe you'll do it because _she_ needs this."

Malfoy's shoulders drooped. "Fine, fine. I'll help. But Granger's never to know we had this conversation."

Standing, Harry rolled his head on his aching neck. "Why not? I mean, don't you someday want to find out from _her_ why she wanted to know if you were capable of taking someone's life?"

Draco didn't respond to that, only watching Harry walk toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"A safe distance from here to see if I can summon my house elf, Kreacher. We might be here a while, we're going to need supplies, and maybe to get messages to anyone who's hiding."

"Right, then you might want to take this," hunching over to reach beneath the bed, Draco extracted a strikingly familiar bundle of fabric.

Eyes wide in a mix of irritation and astonishment, Harry snatched the cloak from his hands. "You stole my invisibility cloak?"

"How else do you think no one saw me as I got away?"

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered unhappily as he put the cloak around his shoulders. "Just take care of her while I'm gone."

For several long, painfully silent and drawn out moments after Potter left, Draco simply watched her. This entire scenario was ridiculous. There was no way to help her. Well, there might be, but he wasn't certain they'd be able to manage.

"You're a mess," he said quietly, sternly avoiding thinking on the tear streaks that cut the dirt smudges on her cheeks.

He flicked his wand at the basin on the bedside table, "_Aguamenti_." Glancing around the room, he spotted a wash cloth and guided it to his hand. "If anyone ever saw this . . ." he grumbled as he dipped the cloth into the water and set to delicately wiping her face clean. He was especially gentle in rubbing the stains of silver from her lips.

"Thank you," her voice was thin, barely audible, but gave him a start nonetheless.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he put the cloth on the table. "You're finally awake. Listen, Granger, you should probably hear this from Potter, but Weasley . . . " he let his voice trail off as she gave a small shake of her head.

"I was too weak to even talk until just now, but I've been awake this entire time."

A dull knot of dread twisted in the pit of Draco's stomach. "So you heard everything?"

Her closed eyelids fluttered, but did not open. "Everything."

"You're awake!" Harry's words cut through the room.

Only as Potter bolted across the room to her bedside did Draco become aware that he'd leaned close to Hermione—_too_ close—and he immediately bolted upright.

"She's_ been_ awake," he informed Harry in a low voice.

Harry gave a slow, pained blink of his eyes as he grasped her hand between both of his and pressed the backs of her fingers to his cheek. "Then you heard what I said about Ron?"

She nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I couldn't save him. I tried, but I couldn't."

A bitter smile played on her lips. "It's okay, Harry. None of what's happened was your fault."

"It's okay?" Harry sat up straight, looking into her face doubtfully. "Hermione, nothing is okay, you and Ron were—"

"Maybe it's the unicorn blood," Malfoy interrupted, uncertain. "Half-life and all that? We don't really know what that does to someone."

"No," she said quietly. "Well, yes, but . . . that's not what I mean. I understand everything, and it hurts. But the blood tempers it . . . like a kissed wound."

Draco furrowed his brow. "What is she talking about?"

Harry shrugged. "Um . . . ."

Hermione sighed, the tremor in her voice the only sign of her pain. "Muggle convention, but given Harry's upbringing, I'm not surprised he's not familiar enough to explain it. When a child gets injured, a loved one kisses the wound to take the pain away."

"And that works?" Malfoy's words were heavy with disbelief.

"Of course not," she whispered, laughing softly. "But . . . that's not really the point. It soothes the child, makes them feel better even though the pain is still there. That's how I feel right now. It hurts _so_ much—knowing what happened, knowing I wasn't there to do anything about it—but I think the blood must be cushioning wound."

The boys exchanged another glance, albeit a bewildered one, this time.

"Did Kreacher come?"

Harry cleared his throat, forcing a sniffle as he tightened his grip on her hand. "Yes. He's bringing food and clothes, and then he's going to go to all the Order's safe houses to look for survivors. I think it's best we don't decide anything further until we hear news."

Hermione's other hand was groping along the bed. "That's so strange, I can't feel anything other than you."

Biting his lip, Harry again stroked her fingers against his cheek. "What do you mean?"

"There's a pressure that tells me I'm touching something, yet I don't have the actual sensation of touch, but I can feel your skin on mine."

Her searching hand landed on Malfoy's. The startled look on his face caused Harry to think it a grand feat that the other young man didn't jump away from her.

"Draco," her voice was soft, still, as she said his name, her fingers tugged at his. He made a show of impatiently rolling his eyes as he let her take his hand. "I can feel you, too."

"So," Harry began, his voice low with anger, suddenly wishing he'd done more to Greyback than just feed him unicorn blood. "This part of the half-life, too?"

"I think so," Draco replied, unable to do anything more for a moment than stare at her hand on his.

Nodding stiffly, Harry pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead. "I'm going to search this place, see if there's anything that might be useful. You rest."

He relinquished her hand and stood. As he reached the door, Draco's voice stopped him, "Potter!" He turned back to see Malfoy leaning over Hermione, his free hand cupping her cheek.

"You're overreacting," she whispered as Harry rushed back to her side. "I'm fine."

"Look at her eyes," Draco murmured, as though she'd not spoken.

Harry's jaw dropped as his gaze met Hermione's. She only offered an exasperated frown as she looked from him, to Malfoy and back again. Hermione's Granger's eyes—the rich, brown eyes of the girl he'd known since his first day at Hogwart's—were silver. The curse had marked her for _anyone_ to see.


	3. Fortuitous Things

**Other current, In-Progress _HP_ Fanfictions**:

_The Scavengers_ (Dramione [AU]),

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione/Harmione/Lumione),

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP, only posted to AFF. Net]),

**NEW! **_Teach Me _(Dramione/Scormione [_18 year old_ Scorpius, tyvm])

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Fortuitous Things

Lucius Malfoy's cold, grey eyes swept over the Great Hall—signs of the battle's destruction largely undone by magic—as he sat in the gilded chair, once occupied by the _great _Dumbledore.

Hogwart's _was _a grand castle, after all. The grounds held a place in the history of not only Wizarding Britain, but the entire Wizarding World, it was isolated . . . and—most importantly—a spoil of war. The perfect place from which to carry out the much needed changes Lucius saw possible for them, all.

"It has been nearly three days," he said, his muttered words tumbling out, low and even. "Draco's body has yet to be found."

Furrowing her brow, Narcissa wrung her hands. "I don't understand this. Where could he be?"

He heaved an exasperated sigh. "I am beginning to think your eyes deceived you, dear wife."

"No," she whispered, her voice taking on a frantic note. She wanted to believe her son was alive, yet not by her side; but after all this, she felt she simply couldn't. She didn't have it in her to hope, only if that hope would later be dashed. "I won't consider anything else until every nook of this castle has been searched."

Lids fluttering with the restraint it took to keep from rolling his eyes, Lucius said quietly, "Every _nook_? Do those struck down by the killing curse often wander into secret crevices_ after_ the fact?"

Her pale cheeks flamed with embarrassment at his scornful tone, though she understood how ridiculous she sounded.

"You must face reality, Narcissa. Either his body was stolen, or it was never here to start. I had thought you would find the possibility that he is alive somewhere as welcome news."

She shook her head, "I . . . ." Her words trailed off as a commotion outside the Great Hall met her ears.

Goyle, Sr. rushed into the room, approaching the dais. His gaze flicked toward Lucius before he motioned Narcissa close.

A frown gracing her thin lips, she stepped up to him and angled her ear toward his mouth.

Sitting back, Lucius propped his elbow upon the armrest and pillowed his chin against the heel of his palm as he watched his wife's expression. Her lips pulled into a tight line and she shook her head, making him wonder what, exactly, she was being told.

She straightened up, fixing Goyle with a hard stare, one perfect, arched brow inching upward. "Why should that be reason for such—"

"Because there is something _wrong _with him," Goyle said, flicking his gaze over his shoulder, back toward the doors.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Lucius asked finally, already tired of such cryptic foolishness.

Narcissa pivoted on her heel, meeting her husband's gaze. "Fenrir has returned."

"Returned?" He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Huh. I was not even aware he'd gone."

Goyle cringed as a growling howl rumbled outside.

Understanding rather suddenly how an angry werewolf might pose a concern, Lucius addressed his former confidante directly, "What, exactly, do you mean something is _wrong _with him?"

Before Goyle could respond, the doors flew open and Fenrir stepped through. A young, and very confused-looking, wizard followed at his heels.

"What do you mean you don't remember?" The wizard's voice was high and tight as he demanded the information. "And _what_ is wrong with your eyes?"

Halting mid-stride, Fenrir turned toward the wizard, silencing any further questions by gripping a hand around the young man's throat. Fenrir dragged him closer, breathing the words in his face, "There is nothing wrong with my eyes!"

Shoving away the wizard, Fenrir boomed as he continued up to the dais, "I want to _rip_ that Potter boy to shreds. Unless you need him for something, I'm hunting him down!"

Lucius hid a chuckle, gaze flicking up toward the ceiling for a moment. "Hunt down the Potter boy? We've _won_, why would you bother—" He cut himself off as Fenrir finally drew near enough that Lucius could see the werewolf's eyes.

Unnoticing of the startled look flitting across their new Lord's face, Fenrir thundered on, "That . . . that half-blood whelp attacked me!"

The wizard behind Fenrir —wasn't his name something like Thane, or . . . Thadius? Lucius could never keep track of those deemed inconsequential to him, and there were so many of them. Tha-whatever-his-name-was lifted his brows in surprise, but remained silent.

Seamlessly regaining his composure, Lucius shrugged. Only Narcissa had noticed his slip, anyway, and no one present appeared to know what the beast-man's silver eyes meant, other than that the new, metallic hue carried with it a deep sense of _wrongness _that he knew they could feel in the pits of their stomachs, just as he did.

"And that explains why you've been missing for, what, two and a half days?"

Fenrir's rage drained from his expression instantly, replaced by blank gaping. "That's can't be! I woke up in the Forest . . . couldn't have been more than an hour ago."

"Wait, wha' happened to the girl?" Tha . . . something-or-other asked.

Heavy brow furrowing, Fenrir threw up his hands. "What girl?"

Lucius exploded from his seat at the glimpse of silver coating the werewolf's fingers. "Is that unicorn blood?" he demanded as he strode across the dais to stand beside Narcissa; was this fortuitous event meant to come at such a price?

Fenrir looked at his hands, as though seeing them for the first time. "Must be. I don't remember killing the unicorn, but when I woke up, there it was on the ground and I had silver on my hands."

The young wizard's face scrunched in disgust. "Were you dying? You said the Potter boy attacked you."

Lucius allowed a smirk to grace his lips—Potter _attacking _the werewolf, and a _girl _Fenrir suddenly couldn't remember? Oh, he had a good notion what happened. "Potter may have ended the Dark Lord, but the boy is no killer."

Grey eyes settled on the young man, who gave a start when he realized himself the center of Lord Malfoy's attention. "So . . . Thadius?"

"Thayer, my lord," the wizard said, averting his gaze.

So respectful and easily cowed . . . . Yes, Lucius was going to keep this one close—this Thayer showed the makings of a perfect underling. "My mistake, Thayer. Tell me of this girl you mentioned."

"W—well, I saw Fenrir before he vanished, my lord. He had that pretty little mudblood girl with him."

Thayer's words confirmed Lucius' suspicions. As far as he was aware, there was only one girl over whom The Boy Who Lived would _attack _someone. Well, there _had _been two, but he'd tripped over the Weasley girl's body, himself, so she hardly counted, anymore.

"What would I want with a mudblood?" Fenrir spat the words, unnoticing of the Malfoys' brief looks of amusement. That a werewolf would show disgust over something his affliction made him no better than was quite humorous to the purebloods, indeed.

Thayer's wide, dark eyes rolled upward as he offered a shrug. "Well, she was _very _pretty. And innocent-looking."

"Innocent-looking, hey?" Fenrir uttered a chuckle. "That explains it."

Narcissa glanced away, setting her jaw. The twisted creature's laughter made her stomach turn; she thought if she allowed herself more compassion, she might be glad the girl managed to get away.

"Big brown hair," Thayer went on, "brown eyes. Looked like she'd put up a pretty good fight before he got his hands on her. Said he was going to break her and then bite her, maybe."

Lucius' gaze darted to his wife, but a moment too late to catch the distaste in her expression. Not that it would have mattered; he needed to focus on the werewolf, on keeping the beast neatly under his thumb, for the time being. "I do believe they're describing Miss Granger."

Fenrir showed no sign that he recognized the description, or the name.

"So a _boy _attacked you, causing you to lose the girl you were going to make into one of your kind, and left you _so _gravely injured you had to drink unicorn blood to survive the encounter?" The corner of Lucius' mouth curled, smirk widening so that his cheek dimpled. "And in the midst of all that, the mudblood managed to cast a memory charm on you?"

Fenrir blanched, realizing how _weak _that chain of events made him sound, however . . . it was all that made logical sense. He couldn't recall the last time he'd cared for logic, but then, he also couldn't recall the moment Thayer stepped up beside him and clapped a hand around his leather-sleeved elbow—couldn't recall it because he hadn't _felt_ his touch.

The dim notion occurred to him that there was something wrong, _very _wrong, with him, yet he couldn't bring himself to care. He only wanted to feel anger again, to work himself up into a froth and be loosed in the Forbidden Forest to find that boy and rend his flesh.

Yet, now that he'd relinquished the grip on his wrath, he couldn't seem to reclaim that precious, familiar rage. That should upset him, he realized—anger warmed his heart the way he often heard love warmed others—but that, as well, was something about which he seemed simply unable to care.

"I think maybe you need to eat something," Thayer said as he tried to pull his comrade away from Lord Malfoy.

When once the easily-riled creature would have snapped at such a condescending gesture, Fenrir merely nodded and allowed the young wizard to lead him away by the arm.

Lucius narrowed his eyes as he watched the pair take their leave. He did not like this turn of events; not in the slightest.

The mudblood could not have been the one to cast the memory charm. No, if the Granger girl had a wand, Fenrir would never have stood a chance. And, while he believed Potter had, in fact, attacked the beast-man, the boy probably hadn't the presence of mind in the moment to cast something so tame.

He squared his jaw, gaze settling on the Hall's wide doubledoors. As he considered what might have happened, he came to like the theory unfolding in his mind even less than he had a moment ago.

Though a memory charm did give him an idea.

"I see the wheels turning, husband," Narcissa said in a whisper.

He turned his head to find she'd drawn up close beside him. Yes, with her he would share his thoughts, but _only_ her. His attention shot to Goyle, who'd stood by, silent and immobile during Fenrir's entire episode.

How had he never before noticed what a cowardly individual his old _friend_ was?

"Goyle," Lucius said gently, forcing a smile as he crooked a finger, beckoning the other man closer.

Goyle frowned as he rolled his shoulders to stand perfectly straight. A flicker in Goyle's expression brought Lucius to believe the other wizard only now realized the spineless behavior he'd just exhibited.

"Yes, my lord," he said, his voice gruffer than usual as he stepped nearer.

"Go find this fallen unicorn. Take full note of the scene, I want even the tiniest detail."

"Yes, my lord," he repeated before turning on a heel and hurrying out of the hall.

"This is a fortunate day, Narcissa," he began once they were alone. "I have often thought it an injustice that the brightest witch of this new age is a mudblood. But if she could be made to believe she is one of us . . . ."

Narcissa's eyebrows inched upward. "You can't be serious!"

He shrugged. "I'm not suggesting we adopt her. I'm suggesting that with the correct discipline applied, that girl could be a useful weapon to us. She could even be made to accept her station; she would only need to forget everything else, first."

"Even were that the case, Potter is with her, he'd die before letting anyone close to that girl."

"Not just Potter, I fear."

Something in his tone made her swallow a gasp, though she didn't want to admit she understood his implication. "I'm not certain I know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Draco isn't here. I saw him fighting against the Death Eaters—so did you. When we had Potter at our mercy, he refused to identify him. Potter rescued the mudblood girl in the woods . . . perhaps Draco was the one who cast the charm on Fenrir and then—"

"And then what? He left with them, bossum companions?"

Once more he offered her a shrug, his expression drifting back to his customary cold and unconcerned manner. "Why not? War makes for strange alliances."

"There's something more, isn't there?" She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Something you're not telling me."

His face scrunched unpleasantly as he debated whether to indulge his wife's curiosity—after all, was he wrong, such would prove dreadfully embarrassing. "When I was a boy," he said quietly, leaning close so that he could drop his voice further, still, "I happened across a tale. A prophecy, from a time before they were recorded in orbs."

"This prophecy comes to mind now because . . . ?"

"Because it tells of a time when those of the _silver_ eyes will again walk amongst us."

"Again?" Narcissa's heart thumped wildly in her chest, though she wasn't entirely certain why. She could not recall any text, or history lesson—nor even a fable, for Merlin's sake—which spoke of silver-eyed beings. "What do you mean, _again_?

"Exactly. Whatever became of them was so long ago, it's been forgotten. I believe I may be the only living soul to have laid eyes upon the tale." His words became rushed and breathless, a nearly child-like wonder lighting his eyes. "The prophecy stated that those with the silver eyes would hold the key to a great secret."

"So that is why you subdued Fenrir? You mean to use him to unlock this _great_ secret?"

Lucius frowned, the bridge of his nose crinkling in distaste. "What other purpose would there be to keeping such a creature alive? Though, truthfully, I am not fond of anything so auspicious hinging on a beast like him." As though suddenly remembering something, his features smoothed as he continued, "Oh, but he is not subdued. Controlled, I believe, yet not subdued."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," she said as she furrowed her brow.

He smiled, withdrawing his wand to touch the tip to his throat. "Greyback, come here," his voice boomed, echoing through the Great Hall.

Narcissa recoiled inwardly at the idea of that beast being near her once more. She stepped lightly around her husband, placing him between herself and the entrance.

The doors eased open, Thayer in the lead as he coaxed Fenrir to follow him. "I'm sorry, my lord," he called across the Hall, "he seems . . . distracted."

Lucius only shook his head dismissively at the young man as he waited for the werewolf to approach the dias.

The beast was still chewing something, gravy dribbling down his chin as he closed the distance.

"Merlin's beard, man, wipe your face," Thayer pleaded in a loud whisper.

With an exhausted roll of his those alarming metallic eyes, Fenrir drew his sleeved arm across his chin. He couldn't care less for his appearance, he simply hoped the act would get Thayer to shut up.

"I have decided," Lucius said, keeping his wand at the ready, in case this backfired, "I will allow you to hunt down _Potter._"

An enraged growl exploded out of Fenrir at the mere mention. The creature's entire demeanor changed, shoulders hunching, fingers curving as he bent low to the ground, as though he would leap upon any one of them at the slightest provocation.

Lucuis flicked his gaze over his shoulder, toward Narcissa. "You see? There is no was to truly subdue him, only to remove him from that which ignites his fury for a time."

Narcissa drew her wand, as well, but shrank further behind him. "How did you know?"

"I actually didn't. I was . . . how does the term go? Following a hunch."

She pursed her lips, eyes rolling. "Of course."

Lucius opened his mouth, but the doors opening once more silenced anything he might have said.

Fenrir started, snarling and bracing for an attack as he spun toward the sound.

Lord Malfoy looked to the back of the Hall, his instant aggravation turning to mild confusion.

Goyle dragged along behind him a half-conscious house elf. The wrinkled, gnarled creature looked like it had been beaten within an inch of its life.

"Found him by the unicorn," Goyle said in explanation as he slid the thing toward the dais and let its arms fall to the floor. "Pretty sure the centaurs got to him, first, must've thought he was responsible for killing the beast."

Once more, Lucius let his disgust be visible in his expression. "Why bring it here instead of letting it die in the Forest?"

"Because of what he told me. Go on," Goyle prodded the elf, "tell our Lord what you told me."

"Kreacher . . . rejoices to see the purebloods in charge," the elf's gravely voice spilled out, barely audible, as his gaze flicked—sightless, it seemed—about the Hall. "But Kreacher cannot betray his master."

Lucius gave a short chuckle, pointing his wand at Kreacher. "Oh, I think I can loosen your resolve. _Crucio_."

Narcissa cringed, biting her lip at the guttural screams tearing from the elf's throat. The pitiful shrieks seemed to last forever, causing her to finally give in and clap her hands over her ears.

Truly, winning this war had awakened terrible things in them. She couldn't recall caring for the pain of the servants, before.

"Kreacher was deep in the Forbidden Forest," the elf rasped, finally. "Master is there, in a house!"

Goyle grinned in triumph before giving the creature a hard kick in the stomach. "Go on!"

"The Malfoy heir is with him . . . and the mudblood girl. But she's not mudblood no more!"

Narcissa's hands slipped from her ears, her body sagging in relief and she let her weight fall against Lucius' back as she silently thanked whatever was responsible. At that contact, she noticed his posture had changed, as well. The confirmation of Draco's survival strengthened something in Lucius, causing him to stand straighter; to naturally become a sturdier support for her.

"A house in the Forest, a mudblood no more? What sort of nonsense is that?"

Kreacher tried, again, to look around, to focus on the faces gathered around him. "Kreacher speaks the truth. She's something, now," he muttered, his voice getting lower, more difficult to understand with each word that passed his lips. "She's got eyes like-like . . . him."

The elf's eyes rested upon Fenrir. Lucius looked from Kreacher to the werewolf, stepping over the elf, even as its enormous eyes slid closed and its breathing stilled.

"Fenrir," he murmured, catching Greyback's gaze with his own. "Go now, track _Potter_, he has your prize!"

Fenrir nodded, letting loose an elated growl as he launched himself toward the doors.

"You two, follow him," Lucius said in a venomous whisper, conveying his seriousness to them. "I don't care if he kills Potter, but you bring my son and the girl here to me."

Both wizards nodded before turning to take off after Fenrir.

When the Great Hall was again silent, Lucius pivoted on his heel, catching Narcissa by the elbows as the sudden move set her off balance. She tried not to look at the lifeless house elf.

"A fortunate day this is turning out to be, indeed," he said, unable to help the smile curving his lips. "To think, we were _just_ discussing turning that girl into something useful to us, and now . . . ." He chuckled, "_Now_ she bears the silver eyes!"

"How did she get them?" Narcissa couldn't disguise the revulsion in her voice this time. "Greyback I can understand drinking from a unicorn, but her?"

Lucius gave a careless shrug as he released her and returned to the gilded chair. "I'd wager that was Fenrir's doing, for . . . some reason or other. That doesn't matter." He sat and once more dropped his chin against his palm as he met her gaze. "What matters is that once we have the girl, we will no longer have _need_ of Fenrir Greyback."


End file.
